


what's half a day between friends?

by pocketpauling



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom
Genre: Autistic Tommy Coolatta, M/M, also just everyone has autism thanks, gordon please stop gay panicking i say as i write him gay panicking, hmmmmmm gay people, mostly gordon pov, teen 4 swears u know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketpauling/pseuds/pocketpauling
Summary: You've heard of seven minutes in heaven, now get ready for 12 hours in hell!A malfunction traps Tommy and Gordon together in a small room in the depths of Black Mesa. What happens next will surprise you!
Relationships: Gordon/Tommy (HLVRAI)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 432





	1. one to six

Gordon's life was becoming increasingly like an escape room. Except, unlike every escape room he'd ever seen, this one beat the shit out of you over and over again for its own enjoyment. 

Now, though, the escape room metaphor had become so painfully real, since - well, right _now_ , he was trapped in a small side room somewhere in the stretch before the Lambda Labs. Except, in that moment, all that really mattered to his stress-addled brain was that it was dark, now. It was dark.

He was trapped, and it was dark, and he was _alone,_ and, oh, God, there's shuffling somewhere to his left, they're going to take his _other_ hand, too.

He backed up hard into the corner of a desk, probably giving himself a serious bruise on his hip in the process, but that didn't _matter_. What _mattered_ was finding something, anything to protect himself, but it was _so_ dark, and the desk just had files and - paper cuts hurt, sure, but they're not that effective -

The shadow in the dark spoke, finally, low and slow, like he was talking to a scared wild animal. "Mr. Freeman, it's - you're fine, it's me. Tommy? The power's out, it's okay."

Fuck, okay, yeah. Cool it, Freeman. 

He wasn't alone. Tommy’s here. Love this guy. Can't get enough of this guy, the only trustworthy member of the group. It’s fine.

His eyes were doing the same - that same glowing yellow thing they did in the dark of that _one_ room, when he was yelling _something_ that Gordon would be able to remember if he wasn't so hellbent on repressing every single thing that happened to him in this hellhole.

Gordon cleared his throat to respond, trying to calm his breathing and mask his panic as much as possible - not really necessary when Tommy already _knows,_ but Gordon still needs to pretend to have dignity. "I… yeah, sorry. Are you okay?"

"Are _you_?"

"Yeah, I - where are the others?"

Bubby responded before Tommy could, muffled, as if he was shouting from behind a metal wall, "We're out here! Thanks for ditching us, by the way. Have to do some fucked up puzzle to get you out, now!"

In the other room. Behind the door. The locked door, the one that needed a complex security system to unlock. That door.

Dr. Coomer's voice, muffled in the same way. Behind the door. "But Bubby, you _love_ puzzles!"

"Harold, I _hate_ puzzles. Especially in the dark."

"You're right! This is truly the Dark Souls of puzzles!"

And, recognizable as ever, the monotone of Benry's voice came from the same spot on the other side, "Only babies play Dark Souls. Real gamers play picross. Takes real skill."

Gordon could definitely imagine the grin on Dr. Coomer's face as he chirped out his quick correction, "Thank you, Benry. This is truly the picross of puzzles!"

Well, that was all of the Science Team (plus Benry) accounted for. And, to be honest, he's kind of relieved that, out of everyone, Tommy was the one stuck in here with him. He could _kind of_ trust Bubby to get through the puzzle he claimed would get them out of there. He'd been the one doing most of the intellectual work, anyway. So, it'd be half an hour at most. Until then, they could find an emergency lantern or something, and hope they hurry back soon.

### \- 1 -

After 30 minutes, Gordon was about ready to have a full breakdown, curled in on himself in the pile of emergency fire blankets that Tommy had found in a closet, surrounded by flashlights and lanterns and, like, one candle. One stupid, unscented tea light. Don't even know where Tommy got the match from.

Gordon had pulled off as much of the HEV suit as humanly possible - which, basically, was just a few heavier tanks and the glove piece on his left hand. Just… just to remind himself. He still has this, at least. That’s as far as the suit will let him disassemble at this point, though. 

Tommy was still digging through the closet when the panic began bubbling back up in Gordon's chest, when the flicker of the candle was making shadows appear in his vision, when he had to bite his left hand to stop himself from just… fucking sobbing. He had tried to bite his right hand, but - yeah. Not worth thinking about. It's going to take a while.

He didn't even want to get used to it. He didn't want to get used to any of it. He didn't want to get used to the site of bloodied corpses and barnacles and _green goop_. Didn't want to get used to Tommy's weird glowing eyes.

Somewhere in there, he had sat down in front of him, in their little pile of blankets and light. He had brought a medkit, too. Just in case, Gordon assumed. In case he did something stupid, like bit his hand so hard it bled, because he was too busy trying not to cry. Trying to pretend he had dignity still. It's all he has left to cling to. That, and Josh. 

Josh - Gordon couldn't handle thinking about that right now.

When Tommy reached out to gently pull Gordon's hand down to check the damage, he didn't flinch. He'd like to believe he didn't flinch, but the way Tommy's uncharacteristically neutral expression turned even more uncharacteristically _sad_ made him think that maybe he had. Just a bit. Even if he doesn't remember doing it.

Tommy just… rubs his thumb against the side of his hand, the part with the stupid little bite mark, the dumb indent and the tiny, perfectly normal and not worrying at all amount of bleeding. Independent of spit and everything. Tommy was making a hell of a sacrifice for him right now. Touching other people's saliva was fucking _gross_. He knew. He had a son. He was aware of it.

They don't talk. Nothing to say.

### \- 2 -

Two hours in, and Tommy had broken out the soda and snacks he had been carrying in his bag the _entire_ time. Chips and snack cakes and cans of Sprite. Gordon could not have been more thankful.

Not for the food, really. Or the soda, because - Sprite? Really? No, he was thankful just, like, for Tommy. Thankful that he cared so much, that, in his own words, he had been stashing food just in case the team needed it during their trek topside. Had thought about everyone's needs like that, even if it was just… snacks and sodas. Better than nothing.

Gordon finished about half of his can before he gave up on it, electing to try and initiate small talk. Since it seemed like they'd be here for a while and all. And they kept just not talking around each other? Not that it was really _uncomfortable_ \- it was nice, actually. Like, really nice. But Gordon was a talkative guy, so… all good things must come to an end.

Small talk, Freeman. You can do it.

"So, uh… what's with the eyes?"

Fuck.

Tommy blinked in surprise, like he didn't know. Which - he might _not_ have. Weirder things have happened. "I - I don't know, it's, uh… they just glow? I kind of forgot about it until you mentioned it."

"How long have they been like that?"

"As long as I can remember! So, uh, since I was a kid."

That was… fascinating, to say the least. So, it wasn't Black Mesa nonsense. Or, it wasn't _likely_ it was Black Mesa nonsense. 

"Well, it's, uh. It sure is something."

"I know, it's - it's weird. I'm weird. You don't need to tiptoe around it."

"I'm not - listen, Tommy, I just haven't ever seen anything like that before? It's… kind of incredible, actually."

Gordon couldn't tell if Tommy exhaling out through his nose was out of amusement or discomfort. He wanted to believe it was the former. He _really_ didn't want to make Tommy uncomfortable.

When he didn't respond, Gordon kind of… panicked, just a bit. That, uh, maybe he _was_ being mean. Kinda. So, he continued, rambling, "It'd be, uh, really interesting, if you were born with it, to see what the genes that determined that were. I mean, I'm not really into biology, it's never been my thing, always was bad at it, but it's still cool to think about? If you're into that kind of thing. 

“And, uh, they're such an amazing color, too, like...? Gold? You never see gold eye colors naturally. Really, uh… pretty. God, I'm sorry."

The conversation derailing into… whatever it derailed into was almost certainly caused by the fact that Tommy's focus was so entirely on Gordon. And, God, maybe his eyes _were_ really pretty. No one could blame him for telling him that. It was a scientific fact. He could… he could get used to Tommy's pretty glowing eyes, actually. Fuck what past him said. He's into it. He's very, very into the 'glowing eyes' look, now.

"No! No, it's fine, you're fine, everything - do you, uh, do you want to keep talking?"

"You want me to keep complimenting you or something?"

"... well, when you put it like that, uh - maybe not."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorry."

### \- 3 -

Three hours in, and there was no sign that the rest of the Science Team had even thought about coming back. The other side of the door had been so silent, it was starting to eat away at Gordon’s whole fake-it-til-you-make-it brave boy act. If they hadn’t done it by _now_ , would they _ever?_ And, God, knowing _Bubby_ , he’d decided he was the de facto leader of the little group, making the decision to leave the dead weight behind. Make it out without them, like he’d planned before. Leave Tommy and Gordon to die in this tiny room. The vents in here were too small to crawl through. There were no options, unless Gordon decided he was going to start burrowing through steel walls. He was about ready to try it.

Fuck Bubby. For real. He _knew_ he wasn’t sorry. He shouldn’t have forgiven him, shouldn’t have let him out of his stupid tube. Should have left him to rot like he’d decided to leave him and Tommy. He understood not wanting to deal with himself - even _he_ knew he was hard to deal with - but Tommy didn’t deserve that. Tommy didn’t do anything wrong.

Tommy had moved to sit with his back to Gordon’s at some point in the last half hour, and the contact was literally the only thing holding Gordon together at this point.

He was humming now, too. Softly, just loud enough for Gordon to hear. And it wasn’t exactly making Gordon _super_ calm, but it was calming enough. It was calming in the way Benry’s Sweet Voice was so often not - nothing forced, just a gentle reminder that someone else was stuck here with him. Someone was here for him, for once. 

Maybe Tommy had been there for him the entire time, though? Not… not as much as Gordon wished he would have been, but he’d fought through Coomer clones for Gordon, helped him calm down after the whole… arm thing.

He tuned it out. The, uh… the humming. Not out of malice or anything, just because it was so consistent that it faded into the white noise, the whirring of server fans in the background. Kind of grounding, in a way.

The only indication Gordon got that Tommy had stopped humming was the near silent swear he mumbled under his breath.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I - I wish I could do Sweet Voice… it’d be so much easier to calm people down. I can read it perfectly fine, but, uh, I never learned how to… do it.”

“No, it’s… it’s nice. The humming? Nicer than Sweet Voice. I’m honestly not that big a fan of Benry’s whole ‘I’m making you calm down now’ thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s really… uncomfortable, sometimes? Like, sometimes it’s nice, but I don’t really like being _made_ to calm down. It’s not a nice feeling. So, uh - you’re fine. Thank you.”

“You’re, uh - you’re welcome, Mr. Freeman.” 

  
  


### \- 4 -

Four hours, and Gordon’s looped around to sad again. No news from the door, no indication that they’d done anything but leave him behind. It’s all so fucking tiring, now. It’s _exhausting_. He should have died in that stupid fucking trash compactor. He _deserved_ to die in that trash compactor.

That was sad. That was sad to think about. Maybe he should find something else to think about.

Tommy wasn’t sitting on the floor with him anymore. Wasn't accidentally leaning back too far and bumping into the back of the HEV suit anymore. That was sad. That was another sad thought, lost contact that Gordon was too far gone to feel shame in mourning. Even if he couldn't feel it, it was a comfort, and now the source of that comfort was across the room.

As much as he wanted to call Tommy back over, he wasn't sure how to do that without sounding like a clingy child. That he needed him there, needed him close by. Needed the comfort. Tommy was so good at comfort. 

Even if all of that was true, he couldn't be that person. He couldn't, because that was annoying. Inconvenient. A burden. He was all of that already. He didn't need Tommy of all people to start hating him.

He didn't know if Tommy could hate anyone - besides the military, of course - but Gordon wasn't exactly any better than the soldiers at this point, if he was being honest. Gordon was a bad person, sometimes. A lot of the time. And, if every other person on the Science Team (plus Benry) hated his guts, surely he had done something to cause that. Something he did caused everyone to turn their backs on him. Tommy could probably hate him too, given enough time.

He hadn't exactly noticed that he was staring, but Tommy had.

Tommy’s face was all concern and sadness, and Gordon absolutely felt like he was going to die if he had to look at that, acknowledge that he caused it, so he focused on the shelves to Tommy’s left. It was just cardboard boxes of paper, and Gordon wished he had the night vision necessary to read the labels in the dark. Give his mind something to focus on, so he could ignore how Tommy had dropped a few of his newly found pencils on the nearest desk. Dropped what he was doing to stumble over knocked-over chairs in the dark to make his way to a guy who definitely, absolutely shouldn’t be this freaked out over nothing. Taking _pity_ on him.

He didn’t say anything - just crouched down in front of him and handed him a pen and paper. Gordon’s not sure if he could have held a conversation anyway, with the state of mind he was in at that moment. 

Gordon can’t really... _do_ anything with this, not with his missing right hand, but he was content to just watch Tommy fill up his pages with doodles of puppies and soda cans and physics equations, loops and angles and numbers.

They don’t talk. Nothing to say.

### \- 5 -

Hour 5, and Gordon is mostly fine now. He’s a big kid, he can deal with this. He’s been through worse. God, has he been through worse.

It’s getting easier to breathe. He’s adjusted to the dark, mostly. The little tea light burned out a while ago, so there’s no more shadows to contend with. It’s kind of nice.

He knows the calm isn’t because he’s actually _calm_ , it’s - you know that calm you get after a bad panic attack? That. It’s that. And he’s aware of it, but he’s beyond caring, as long as he can just zone out and not feel like his face is numb anymore.

In front of him, laying on his stomach on the floor, is Tommy. Still doodling on papers, filling every inch of space before he moves on to the next piece. It’s calming, too, in a way. Gordon hasn’t moved in an hour, just let the sound of the scribbling lull him into a mindless daze. 

Maybe not exactly mindless, actually.

He’s _trying_ to be thoughtless. Head empty. But, no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts wrap back around to Tommy. 

Tommy. The only one who was really there for him right after he lost his hand. Well - not _right_ after, but they met up soon enough after that Gordon figured it counted. Tommy outright admitted to running away from the rest of the Science Team, actually, right after what happened. 

Kinda makes him feel bad - Tommy knowingly left the safety of a group just because of the Science Team’s betrayal. He didn’t _have_ to. He could have stayed safe and gotten out, but he… waited. Waited for Gordon, to make sure he was okay.

Gordon wishes he knew more about the guy, honestly. After all this, the least he can do is get a little closer. Like that one saying: a friendship forged in the fires of adversity - that’s really all he knows of the quote, but he figures it works here. God knows they’ve been through plenty of fire to be… fire-forged. 

Thinking back on it, he’s only known him for… what, four days? It feels like it’s been _months._ Hell, being stuck in this room, he feels like it’s been a week already. He and Tommy are practically best friends, now. Been through hell together. 

When did they even meet, exactly? Back before the test, he was… he ran into Tommy in the halls, yeah. Tommy introduced himself first, and Gordon humored him when he asked him to go to the break room. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. And Tommy asked about the bulletin board, but he called it a _billboard_ , which, in retrospect, is an absolutely adorable mistake.

He doesn’t even stop that thought, trying to ground himself in the memory that felt like it happened forever ago. Tommy… Tommy said he drank soda for lunch, and Gordon had laughed, and walked down the hallway towards the test, and he - 

Oh, he had… he had said something kinda mean, hadn’t he?

Before he can really think about it, he’s opening his mouth to apologize, “Tommy, I - “ He cuts himself off. How the fuck is he supposed to explain this? Explain why he’s apologizing _now_? 

Tommy doesn’t look up from the paper. “Yes, Mr. Freeman?”

Context. Provide some context, Gordon. Maybe he didn’t even hear him? That’d make this _so_ much easier. “You, uh. Do you remember when we met? In the hallway, outside the break room?”

He just hums in response. Okay… that’s not, like, a confirmation, or anything. But it’s not denial? He’s just going to… to keep going.

“I… I called you a, uh - ”

Tommy cuts him off immediately. It’s uncharacteristic. Startlingly so. Gordon doesn’t know how to react to it. “A freak. I remember.”

Swallowing his fear, Gordon continues with the apology. It’s so important to get this apology out, he _has_ to be the only motherfucker in this team who can say sorry. He has to have that, at least. “... I’m sorry. I’m so - I’m _so_ sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy stops his scribbling, which had devolved into tight spirals quickly after the conversation started. He glances up from the paper at last, and Gordon feels a twinge of fear for a moment. It’s like he’s looking right into him, like he’s trying to - God, Gordon doesn’t know. If Bubby can set people on fire, maybe Tommy can, like, freeze people to death? Gordon feels a little cold, now that he thinks about it.

He doesn’t freeze him. He just sighs and looks back down at the paper, picking up the scribbles right where he left off. “It’s fine - it’s not, uh, the _worst_ thing I’ve been called at work.”

“That doesn’t excuse it! I didn’t - I don’t know _why_ I said that, but it wasn’t right. It was fucked up. You don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t really react, beyond pushing a bit too hard with the pen, ripping the paper. He doesn’t really react to that, either - just grabs a new piece of paper to work on, filling the top with angular lines, a pattern without a pattern.

Gordon feels awful.

“You don’t deserve people talking to you like that. And - all the stupid jokes about you being a kid, I wasn’t - I wasn’t thinking about how that could hurt you, and I’m so sorry that I _did_ hurt you.”

Tommy sighs again, but this one is less “gee, I sure am tired,” and more bone-achingly exhausted - like he’s sick of the conversation. He pushes himself up into a kneeling position, so he can face him. He’s maybe a bit closer than he intended to be, leaning into Gordon’s space, but Gordon doesn’t really focus on that.

Oh, who is he kidding? He’s absolutely focused on that.

He’s smiling, now, but it isn’t quite in his eyes. “Mr. Freeman. I’m _fine_.”

“I - are you sure?”

“Yes, now - uh, if you could be any type of animal... which one would you be?”

“Wh - why?”

“I’m drawing your fursona!”

Gordon barks out a laugh, makes Tommy jump at the sound of it, but then they’re both laughing, and it’s all fine. He hopes that this is Tommy’s way of forgiving him.

### \- 6 -

Six hours, and Tommy has to change the bandages on Gordon’s stump-where-a-hand-used-to-be. There have been multiple moments during this situation where he’s been incredibly thankful it’s Tommy and not anyone else, but right now? Right now, he’s the most thankful he’s been yet. The idea of Bubby, or Dr. Coomer, or, God forbid, _Benry_ doing this for him was enough to make him sick.

Dr. Coomer could probably manage, but those other two - Gordon was sure they’d kill him, if left alone with him. Again. 

Tommy was so soft and kind. And caring. Tommy is the only person Gordon trusts, radiates positivity. Tangibly so.

He’s thought that a lot over the past few hours, huh? That’s something. 

There’s no use trying to stop thinking so much about the guy when he’s watching him take everything out of the medkit from earlier, neatly setting it all out between him and Gordon. He’s being so careful, for some reason Gordon can’t figure out.

It’s a lot easier to think about Tommy than it is to think about how fucking afraid he is right now - his adrenaline left him at about the 4th hour mark, and now things hurt a lot more than normal. The HEV suit only does so much with the pain, and he’s afraid that if Tommy touches it, it’s going to hurt so much more.

Tommy reaches out for Gordon’s arm, and he flinches away.

He withdraws his own hand just as quickly. “Oh, I - I should have warned you! I’m sorry, I - “

“It’s fine, I’m okay. Just… sudden movement. You know.”

“I get it.”

Gordon believes him.

Tommy puts out his hand again, waiting patiently for Gordon to be okay with the movement, and Gordon meets him halfway there. He wastes little time in unwrapping the bandages, the ones he put there before, just after the fight with Dr. Coomer. Tore up his own lab coat to do it.

His focus is fully on the place where Gordon’s hand used to be, but Gordon himself is focused on Tommy’s face. He can tell he’s trying really hard not to hurt him, trying _so_ hard. Gordon really, really wants to kiss him.

Ha! Ha, wow. What?

He’s got to take a moment after that one. It’s one thing to think about how… nice Tommy is, how much he trusts him, but this is… okay, yeah. It sure is a thought he could have. Gordon isn’t _repressed_ , he _knows_ he’s bi. He knows! He’s so fucking aware of that, thank you, he’s _so_ comfortable in that identity. Finding a man attractive isn’t the problem.

It’s… Tommy. That’s why. It’s _Tommy_.

Oh. 

_Oh._

God, it’s _been_ Tommy. He wants… to be with him, he thinks? Tommy, who’s been here for him, who defended him, who - sure, he’s a doormat, and he tends to fall in line with the others’ jokes, but - Tommy’s been there, at the end of the day. In a way no one else really had been.

He feels like he’s been run over. By his own emotions, metaphorically. Tommy would have a better metaphor.

In an alternate timeline, maybe, he would be brave enough to reach out and pull him into a kiss right here, right now.

Gordon’s a coward. Just thinking about it has him blushing bright red.

Tommy notices. 

“Oh! Don’t tell me you have a fever now, too! That’s - that’s not good.” He sounds so concerned, reaching out to check Gordon’s temperature with the back of his hand. Too concerned to remember that there’s a perfectly fine thermometer next to him on the ground.

At the contact, Gordon’s sure his heart skips a beat. The HEV suit doesn’t comment on it.

“Hmm! You feel a little warm, but that’s - uh, that’s fine, I think.” He shrugs and turns his focus back to cleaning Gordon’s wound. 

Gordon doesn’t want to look at it, so he keeps looking at Tommy. Whatever he’s doing stings, just a bit. Not as much as he was scared it would.

He’s applying whatever antibacterial solution was in the medkit when he starts tearing up, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his lab coat.

Of course, Gordon’s going to be worried. What kind of person would he be if he wasn’t? “What’s wrong?”

Tommy doesn’t respond, just tries to blink away his tears enough to see what he’s doing.

“Hey, hey, no - Tommy… what’s wrong, what happened?”

“You - you happened! Or, uh - your arm, your hand… happened.” He wipes his eyes again, looks Gordon directly in the eyes for a second - he couldn’t keep the eye contact up, but it’s so apparent this fucked him up too. Not as badly as if messed Gordon up, sure, but seeing that kind of thing couldn't have been great.

“What - yeah, it’s fucked up, huh? What the rest of them did. But it’s okay, no need to cry over it.”

“No, I’m - I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman, I’m so - I didn’t want to stand there and do _nothing_ , but I couldn’t _move_. And that’s, uh, that’s not… that’s not an excuse. There’s no excuse for not defending you.”

"It's okay, Tommy. It's not your _job_ to defend me."

"But I wanted to. I _want_ to, Mr. Freeman."

“Tommy…”

“I can’t - I can’t change what happened, but I, uh, I promise. Okay? I promise I won’t let anything like that happen again.”

Gordon can’t think of anything to say. Just looks at Tommy’s eyes again, mesmerizing, glittering gold and staring right through him. Haha, holy shit. 

“ _Ever,_ Mr. Freeman. I mean that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally got halfway done w this. ofc theres gonna be more dw. need to motivate myself.
> 
> this was originally going to be 24 hours but then i remembered that i need to be able to publish this eventually


	2. seven to eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon just wants breakfast.

### \- 7 -

It gets a lot quieter after they pass the 7 hour mark.

It’s not for any particularly important reason - Tommy’s exhausted after the whole crying thing, which Gordon understands. He understands so, so much. He’s had to stop the team on multiple occasions in the past two days alone just because of how fucking exhausting it is to feel emotions, so many stupid fucking emotions, and Tommy hasn’t been sleeping as much as the rest of them - he’s so tired, he _has_ to be.

No matter how… not-quite-human he is, he has to be tired. So Gordon convinced him to sleep, nap, take a break, _anything_. Like, God, they have so many blankets, they’ve made a nest. Tommy doesn’t argue for long. He’s been asleep for a good 20 minutes.

It’s quiet, now. Low humming of _something_ in the walls, water pipes creaking, still in use somewhere, somehow. What might have been quiet shuffling from the other side of the door, but he’s not worried about that. Not now. He’s too focused on Tommy’s breathing. There’s time to think now that it’s nearly silent, as silent as Black Mesa could ever be.

Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. There’s a lot to unpack here.

Gordon’s a very… reasonable person, maybe? Maybe that’s the phrasing, he doesn’t know. But he _does_ know that if he doesn’t try and make sense of how he feels here, even just a little bit, he’ll fucking combust.

Because it’s easy to say you have feelings for someone who’s kind to you, yeah? Easy. Gordon _knows_ it’s easy, because he’s done it his whole life. Anyone who’s ever been kind to him has shot to the top of his list of - fuck, Freeman, where’s that sentence even meant to go? Like, list of crushes? Crushes are for kids. He’s not a kid. Tommy’s older than _he_ is. Stupid, stupid childish words, because adults don’t have easy words for this.

 _Is_ there a word for this? Infatuation? Maybe. That’s a very adult word. Smart. Smart people use words like _infatuation_ and not _crush_ , like how they don’t go play on the playground and eat those shitty pink-and-white frosted animal crackers that he and Joshua both love so much. 

Tommy mumbles something in his sleep, something that doesn’t even register as English in Gordon’s head. He’s so… calm. Tommy’s not actually _unusually_ hyper, not most of the time, and - you know, he’s never really had reason to pay attention to Tommy after he’s gone to sleep, but maybe now he does?

That might be a little weird, if he wasn’t so sure the entire team watched him when _he_ slept. He’s woken up to their stares more times than he can count. It’s… it’s something he _could_ count, technically, but he doesn’t really want to. That’s the same thing, basically.

He’d be worried that Tommy wasn’t breathing if he couldn’t hear him doing it. If he wasn’t focusing on it like his life fucking depended on it. Soft, even breaths, nothing wrong. No cause for alarm. Tommy’s fine.

Tommy’s fine! Tommy is - he’s adorable when he’s asleep, actually. Gordon forgets what he looks like without the smile, sometimes. Drops the sunshine act when he’s finally unconscious. 

Act? _Is_ it an act? Maybe it _isn’t_. Gordon doesn’t know, maybe Tommy really is, like... the ultimate morning person. A full breakfast every single day kind of person. Sunny side up eggs. Waffles with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, florentine omelettes, hash browns and ketchup. Orange juice, coffee, good morning kisses.

Gordon’s hungry. For a lot of things. It settles less in his stomach and more in his chest, a dull ache that he’s not going to be able to shake now that he’s considered it.

He was trying so hard, too - he wanted to justify not liking Tommy like that, it’s just _stress_ , Freeman, it’s just the stress getting to you. Making you close to people so much faster than you should be, but God _damn_ is it hard to listen to that voice. It’s so hard to listen when Tommy makes him feel like he’s starving, but in the best way imaginable. And the worst. Can you have both?

Gordon wants to know how it feels to wake up at 8 AM and smell breakfast from the kitchen, know you’re not alone in your own home, know someone cared enough to get up and do that for you, because you’re _you_ and not because they _have_ to. He makes so many assumptions about so many people so much of the time, but he thinks he’s right in assuming that if he _ever_ kissed Tommy, ever worked up the nerve, if - God willing, if Tommy ever _let_ him, it’d feel like that. It’d feel like that, exactly.

God, has he failed in what he’s set out to do. If anything, he wants it more. All of it. He wants it so much, a future outside of this living hell, something to look forward to with the guy who saved his life not because he _had_ to, but because he just really _wanted_ to.

It’s a nice thought. Something to cling to, something to keep him going. Tommy and Joshua. They alone could motivate Gordon through this mess.

Sad that it was almost certainly one-sided.

It’s a depressing thought, but it was reality. A reality Gordon was willing to accept, if he had to, and he _knew_ he had to.

Tommy shifts, just a bit, and his eyes open, just a _bit_ , and Gordon panics. Just a bit. Because, God, wouldn’t it be something if he thought so hard about Tommy that he heard it? Sent his fantasies about blueberry pancakes and maple syrup and biscuits and gravy into the universe just for Tommy to dream of it, to wake up, and know Gordon had thought it?

He shows no sign of knowing, though, just looks at him, confused, eyes half lidded. Tired. Didn’t sleep nearly enough. “Mr. Freeman?”

“It’s… it’s Gordon, actually.”

“Hm?”

“Call me _Gordon_ , Tommy. You don’t need to be so formal. Not anymore. You never had to, but especially not now.”

Tommy hums like he’s thinking about it, like it’s not insane to say no. To say, ‘No, Mr. Freeman, I’m going to keep calling you Mr. Freeman, even though you’re younger, and I call _Benry_ by his first name.’ Like that’d be a normal thing to say.

It’s something Gordon would be anxious about, if he wasn’t so busy being anxious about everything else.

He answers eventually, a soft laugh, a soft, “Okay, Gordon.” 

It does nothing to help the ache in Gordon’s chest.

### \- 8 -

Tommy hasn’t put much effort into moving from where he was laying in their circle of fire blankets, beyond the initial post-nap stretching and trying to find a more comfortable position. Gordon can only assume he slept wrong, somehow. 

“Gordon, do you - do you want to sleep? You look tired.”

Yeah, actually. That’d be nice.

“I’m fine.”

Tommy’s entirely unconvinced, not that Gordon’s trying particularly hard to not seem exhausted. It’s just easier to tell everyone he’s doing alright, same as always. “Are you sure? I, uh… I think you probably should. You’ve been up for a long time! The others are probably going to be back soon, and - “

“I’m not tired, and it’s - it’s been _eight_ hours.”

“Uh, yeah, it... has? So, uh, they’ll be back soon!” Tommy’s cheerful optimism didn’t really reach his eyes, but he said it with the same conviction as when he was claiming their buildings were OSHA compliant, or that he’d memorized the entirety of Wikipedia.

Silly little things Gordon _knew_ weren’t true, but Tommy believed them, so he’d given up arguing. But this wasn’t - this was more important than claiming to have memorized _entire terabytes of information_. This was about survival.

He’d argue the Wikipedia thing later.

Gordon’s sighing, the same exhausted sighing that’s become second nature, coming as easy as walking, or _breathing_. “They’re… why do you believe that?”

Tommy cocks his head to the side. Gordon wonders if he’s actually that naive, or if he’s just that far in denial.

“Because it’s true?”

“What if it’s not?”

“That’s - they’re coming back, Gordon, I know they’re coming back.”

The way Tommy sits up so suddenly, the way he says his name, it pulls him out of his anxiety for a moment, but just a moment. Fuckin’ stupid, gay feelings, can’t get distracted. This is an important conversation, don’t get distracted. 

Gordon balls his fists - _fist_ , even though it still feels like he’s got the other hand. Wants to dig his nails into his palm until he bleeds, wants to get out of this stupid fucking room. “No, you don’t. _I_ know them, and I know they don’t care about saving anyone but themselves.”

“That’s... not really _fair_ \- “

Is any of this fair? Has anything that’s happened been fair? Is what they did to him _fair_? Hell of a time to be talking about, about - fucking _fairness_ of all things. Gordon doesn’t owe anyone the benefit of the doubt, not now, not ever.

“Isn’t it? You know what they did to me. All to save themselves? Sold me out to the military, Tommy? Remember?”

“I… yeah. I do. But I don’t think they’d leave us now.”

That unlocks whatever the cruelest part of Gordon’s brain is, and he knows he’s going to spiral. He can’t even control the venom in his voice when he asks, “Why? Because it’s _you_?” 

“It’s - what?”

“Because you’re here, right? If it was me, the whole team wouldn’t think twice.”

“That’s not true, I wouldn’t - “

“You wouldn’t? If you had to - God, if you had to do a fucking, a whole 12 hour puzzle to save me from rotting in a room, you’d do that? I doubt it.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment. It makes Gordon sick.

He finds his words eventually, but they’re not really convincing. “... I would? I would. Hey, I would!”

Gordon exhales, hard, like he’s been holding his breath. You know what? He _is_ tired. So fucking tired. He’s tired, and upset, and he feels so very alone all of a sudden. This would all be so much easier if he just… didn’t live through the fucking _hand_ thing. If he didn’t survive it, if the soldiers had finished the job, everything would have been so much more simple. Tommy wouldn’t be trapped here.

Tommy winces, barely. But visibly. And Gordon doesn’t even have to wonder if he’s been muttering his thoughts out loud.

Thankfully, Tommy doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. Speaks as soft as possible, as level as he can, “Hey, uh… maybe you should rest. Take a - try to nap? You’ll feel better when you wake up, I promise. I’ll keep watch, okay?”

Fuck it. Fuck it, sure. 

### \- 9 -

Gordon doesn’t know where he is when he wakes up. Not immediately, but he remembers soon enough. 

Stupid fucking room. Stupid room with stupid desks, stupid shelves, stupid itchy fire blankets. Stupid, pretty Tommy, trying and failing to hide that he was staring at Gordon’s face as soon as he opens his eyes.

The momentary eye contact hurts, a little bit. For Gordon. Who knows if Tommy cares, beyond the discomfort of looking someone directly in the eyes.

When he tries to move his left hand, it’s tangled in his own hair. This is only _slightly_ panicking, mostly because he can’t really tell what’s going on. He tugs, _hard_ , and regrets a lot of things all at once. Pulling on his own hair hard enough to hurt? Yeah, regret that. Putting on the HEV suit glove again? Regret that one, too.

He tries, again, to pull the glove away from his head, but it’s not working. It’s not _working_ , it’s - 

Tommy grabs his hand, stops him almost instantly. His head is practically in Tommy’s lap, and - when did that happen? Did he fall asleep like this? He doesn’t remember. Everything’s been too stressful to remember.

Gordon opens his mouth to say something, but Tommy just… shushes him. Like he’s the adult here, which, sure, he _is_ the older one, but… still. 

Tommy’s voice is still that same soft, calming tone, almost like he’s scared Gordon’s going to bolt on him. “It’s fine, Gordon, just - calm down, I’ll get it.”

He does what he’s told.

The hand on his moves, and so does Tommy’s focus, away from _vaguely_ around Gordon’s forehead and to where the glove was stuck in his hair. Gordon can tell, knows that Tommy’s trying his hardest not to hurt him, or pull anything, but it’s in the joints of the gloves, it _has_ to be. 

Tommy sighs in mock disappointment when his fingers snag, pull too hard, for the 100th time, as he finally gets the glove loose.

“Your hair is a _mess_ , Gordon.”

“Haven’t had time t’ brush it, bud.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at the ‘bud’ thing, but doesn’t respond. Just continues working, and finally gets the hand free.

“Can’t even… do the whole ‘hand brushing’ thing, since... you know.” He tries to look up, look Tommy in the eyes, but Tommy was somewhere beyond him. Back, way back. Hours away. There’s no indication Tommy even _heard_ him. “So… uh… I’m fine. With having a rat’s nest, until I can get home, take a fucking _shower_ , and finally - “

“I could do it.”

“You could do what?”

“Brush it? Uh... if that’s okay? I mean - I - I don’t have a _brush_ , but I’m, uh, I’m sure I can manage.”

Gordon spends about a second weighing the pros and cons. 

Cons? His hair is definitely greasy - it’s been _days_. He’s never been the kind of person to wash his hair daily, that’s not the best way to keep your hair healthy, but it’s… they’re coming up on the fifth day in this hell, and it’s gotta be bad. It has to be really bad by this point. Unpleasant.

Pros? Well, it’s Tommy.

He nods weakly, manages to mumble, “Okay, okay.”

Gordon has no idea where to put his hands - _hand_ \- when Tommy starts in, has to settle for the floor. He’s got no clue what to do about any of this, no clue where to look, just - he can only close his eyes, so he doesn’t have to look at Tommy’s face.

So. Yeah. Tommy.

He’s - there’s _no fucking way_ he can think right, not with Tommy’s fingers combing through his hair. And, yeah, yeah, it’s not… there’s the occasional snag, sometimes Tommy pulls a bit too hard on some of his more awful tangles, but that’s okay, too. That’s extremely, extremely okay. More than okay.

There’s a lot to be said about how nice Tommy is, that he hasn’t said a single thing about the way Gordon is most definitely melting into a puddle in his lap. The kindness. Unparalleled. He’s so good to him, the only member of the group who wouldn’t take this opportunity to kick him while he’s down. Tommy’s good.

Tommy’s been avoiding making any actual contact with his scalp, but the moment he does, Gordon’s so sure he’s going to die. It takes the tiniest scratch of nails, and he gives up so fully that Tommy has to stop and make sure he’s okay. 

Gordon doesn’t really listen to the question, just nods and lets Tommy continue.

### \- 10 -

It takes 30 minutes for Tommy to untangle Gordon’s hair. 

He’s a puddle. He’s a puddle of something that used to be Gordon, because Tommy hasn’t stopped. Tommy’s still going. Tommy’s still playing with his hair like it’s normal, like it’s something people just _do_. 

It might be something people do with friends. Gordon wouldn’t know. He hasn’t had a lot of them.

Tommy’s eyes are so gold, and they’re all Gordon wants to look at, even with the discomfort - he can compromise. God, can he compromise, memorize the way they glitter despite how dark the room is. The inhuman way they glow, it’s okay. It’s Tommy. Tommy’s allowed to be inhuman, he thinks.

He can’t tell if the silence is comfortable or awkward. He feels like _someone_ should be saying _something_ , but Tommy hasn’t spoken besides occasionally asking him if he’s doing okay, and Gordon doesn’t know how to ask Tommy if he can kiss him.

Tommy senses the discomfort with the silence, somehow - maybe Gordon’s got some kind of aura. Maybe whatever’s giving Tommy those pretty eyes gives him the ability to know this kind of thing. Either way, he speaks up, fills the silence.

“Have you ever watched Star Trek?”

Oh, that’s not what he was expecting. He figured it’d be another ‘Are you okay?’ type thing, where he’ll just nod, and - he’s supposed to respond. He’s supposed to respond to questions.

Gordon swallows, tries to trick his vocal cords into believing they can work right. “Uh, yeah. When I was a kid. Why?”

Tommy’s momentarily distracted by a tangle he missed, before answering. “It’s not really - I was just wondering what your favorite series is? If you have one.”

Favorite Star Trek series. Well, he’s never been one for paying close attention to them, they’re mostly something he puts on for nostalgia, but he _has_ watched at least _some_ episodes from each of them. What’s his favorite? What’s the one with the dog, the one who loves cheese -

“Enterprise?” He ventures. Because who fucking knows what the series is actually called.

Tommy looks confused for a second. “Enterprise? You like - no, of course you like Enterprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tommy laughs, surprisingly loud, and pulls his fingers out of Gordon’s hair. Which, okay, not really cool. Would love to still have that contact, Dr. Coolatta. Come on, man. 

“I didn’t mean - Enterprise is fine. I like Porthos. But I think it’s - I like the idea of a prequel series, but it tries too hard to be… I don’t know.”

Gordon understands, then, that Enterprise is _not_ a good series, maybe. Maybe it’s bad to like it. Maybe Tommy doesn’t date men who like Star Trek: Enterprise, for some reason. “No, yeah I get it. I’ve got bad taste in TV shows, I guess.”

Tommy taps his fingers on the top of Gordon’s head, some kind of stim, and his body threatens to melt again. “No! No, it’s good. I just think… you can tell a lot about a person based on which series is their favorite. Sometimes.”

His brain shuts down when Tommy’s fingers pull through his hair again. God. Tommy must know what this is doing to him. What was he going to say? What’s going on? “What’s… which one’s _your_ favorite?”

“Part of me wants to - I like Deep Space 9 so much, but… The Next Generation is my favorite, I think. It’s - I know it’s everyone’s favorite, but it’s so - “ Tommy cuts himself off, again, and sighs. He’s nervous, and Gordon’s concerned he did something to _make_ him nervous.

Whatever keeps Tommy talking. Makes him feel comfortable. He should just - he can just ask questions. Prompt him.

“Why’s it your favorite?”

Tommy’s confused again, like he didn’t expect Gordon to want him to continue. Which - sad. Sad to think about, sad to experience, don’t want to let Tommy feel that way again. “I… I liked how hopeful it was. I grew up with it. It’s nostalgia, I think - I don’t know if it’s really that good. But so many of the characters… I don’t know.”

Tommy picks up the stimming again as he speaks, the tapping against the top of Gordon’s head, and it’s very good. Feels good, feels great. Gordon wants to sit here and zone out to Tommy talking forever. This whole situation isn’t so bad after all. “Who’s your favorite? Your favorite character?”

“Oh, uh - Data was always… my…” 

There’s a few seconds of silence before Gordon realizes Tommy’s not going to keep talking.

“Tommy, you can talk about things you like. I like listening to you.”

“I know, it’s just very - it’s hard to.”

“Well,” Gordon reaches up, pats Tommy’s hand, the same awkward he always is. “Just know I like hearing about whatever you want to talk about, okay? Anything.”

Tommy just sighs, decides not to continue, which is fine, but Gordon sincerely hopes he’s understood. Anything he wants to talk about, things he likes, whatever interests he has - he’ll listen to him read the phone book, if Tommy was interested in that.

### \- 11 -

Gordon is moments from falling asleep again when a loud shuffling sound comes from the other side of the door, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground, or the wall. It could have been the wall. It echoes in what _was_ comfortable near-silence, cutting off Tommy’s soft humming. 

He goes for his gun before he can really stop himself. Muscle memory is a hell of a thing, and he doesn’t even have time to let his own brain know that the door is locked _tight_. Nothing’s getting in here.

The realization that they’re safe from whatever’s outside the door is short-lived. Another terrifying thought takes its place. 

His pistol isn’t _there_. 

_None_ of his weapons are.

Anxiety builds, and it builds fast. He can’t breathe, he can’t _think_ , and Tommy’s fingers in his hair feel more like a threat than a comfort - it’s the trash compactor. He’s defenseless. He’s bleeding out on the floor.

When he bolts upright in panic, he almost smacks Tommy in the face.

His breathing is as far from level as it could possibly be, barely able to get through a single sentence. “Where - where are my - my - “

Tommy puts his hands on Gordon’s shoulders, trying to get him to lay back down, gently, voice equally as soft. “Hey, it’s - Gordon, it’s okay, calm down.”

“No, no, where… I just had them, I _just_ had them! You - _you_.”

Gordon turns to face Tommy so quickly it’s unsettling, even to himself. He barely processes the tiniest bit of - fear? Anxiety? Something - in Tommy’s eyes. 

“... me?”

His hands are moving on their own, and - that’s not right. He’s aware, he’s making the decision to grab Tommy by the collar. Gordon makes the decision to ignore the way Tommy flinches, just barely, at the sudden movement. Every thought he’s having, it feels like it’s being pulled through a fine mesh sieve. Processing things feels like wading through egg whites. Every action feels like breaking yolks, like he just keeps fucking up this stupid fucking recipe, but he can’t stop. 

“You took my fucking - why’d you take my guns?” The accusation leaves his throat before it’s fully formed in his mind, but, once it does, it all starts clicking into place, haphazard. Missing information, half-baked - but a half-baked coffee cake is still coffee cake. He’s still going to eat it, no matter how terrible it tastes. No matter how hard it is to accept.

“I - uh… I didn’t?”

Tommy is obviously lying. That hurts the worst.

His hand, Tommy’s hand - he’s holding onto Gordon’s wrist, the one he has left. 

Gordon can’t really filter his words anymore, it pours out of him like - some liquid, something, what’s a liquid? Water’s a liquid. It’s like water. “You did. You’re the only other person here, Tommy.”

There’s visible panic on Tommy’s face, now. Gordon knows. He can see. There’s something, some secret, everyone’s always keeping secrets from him. Everyone’s keeping something terrible, some plan, something he’s not allowed to know, not his _business_. But he caught Tommy.

“I…” Tommy tries his hardest to look Gordon in the eyes, tries to show there’s still trust here, but he can’t quite get the words out. 

“You were… I thought I could _trust_ you,” And Gordon is seething, speaking through gritted teeth, shaking Tommy as hard as Tommy’s grip allows. 

Tommy’s pretending to be confused, still. Still acting. Stupid act, stupid sunny - stupid, pretty, “You can! What? You can trust me, I - I didn’t - “

“So, what, you wanted to spend this whole time fucking with me before you killed me? They’ve been waiting outside the door, or some shit? For hours, for you to finally do the damn thing? And - ”

Tommy sputters. His grip tightens on Gordon’s wrist, eyes searching for something in Gordon’s face, and - ha! Isn’t that funny? Turn the tables? He hopes Benrey and Bubby can hear him.

“ _What_?”

Gordon continues, ignores the tone of Tommy’s voice. 

“ - you just, you’re just as fucked up and evil as the rest of them, huh? The whole ‘saving Gordon’s ass’ thing, just an act?”

“No? Please, let go of my shirt. We can… we can talk about this.”

Gordon isn’t listening. He _is_ , but he doesn’t want to - his heartbeat is so loud, Tommy _has_ to be able to hear it. He feels like he’s seeing static, he feels like he’s going to die. “Got caught, though, huh? Made me - made me feel - “

Tommy gives up on trying to talk to him, then. Pulls Gordon’s hand off his collar effortlessly, catches him by surprise almost completely - he has so little time to react before Tommy’s wrestling him to the floor. It’s all so easy for him, too easy - how strong is Tommy? 

He’s being held down, Tommy on top of him, and his fear breaks whatever ceiling it was under before. Tommy can kill him. Tommy can kill him so, so easily, if he wanted. 

“ _Gordon_.”

“Going to kill me? Better make it quick.”

“Christ, I - I’m not - “

Gordon’s eyes flick down to the pistol that Tommy keeps at his waist. There’s another half-baked idea in his head, a plan, a frantic last-ditch effort to save himself. His hand reaches out for it, alarmingly fast.

Tommy is faster.

He pins Gordon’s wrist next to his head, leaning further over him to keep him there. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.

Tommy grabs the gun with his other hand, and Gordon feels like he’s going to pass out. His breaths are nearly hiccups, and his vision has started blurring at the edges. This is it. This is it, this is the end. Tommy’s going to kill him. The Science Team’s ultimate final joke on him. 

He closes his eyes, closes them as tight as possible. He doesn’t want to look at Tommy when he pulls the trigger. He doesn’t want to take that image into whatever afterlife might exist, if he has 

There’s a sound, but it’s not a gun going off, and he’s not dead when he opens his eyes to look. 

Tommy’s ejected the clip. It’s on the floor, and he’s sliding the empty gun to the other side of the room, and they’re both defenseless, now. Both of them.

“There! There. No more guns.”

Gordon can’t speak, his mental capacity fully overtaken by watching Tommy, hyper aware of every movement.

Tommy sighs at him, sad. Pitying. “If you’re… if you’re going to finally _listen_ , I can _explain_.”

He doesn’t continue, and Gordon distantly realizes that he’s waiting. Waiting for a response. He’s waiting for Gordon to be there, to listen

“I took… uh, I _did_ take your guns… but it wasn’t to - I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to keep you _safe_.” Tommy lets go of his hand, leans back to wring his hands together, and Gordon feels like the fight’s left him. Fully, completely. “You - you say scary things about yourself, you know that? You… I’m so afraid for you, all the time. All the time, Gordon.”

Gordon’s voice is so quiet when he responds. “I do _what_?”

Tommy doesn’t look down at him, glues his eyes to the ceiling tiles. “You said… you said, you’ve been saying a lot of things about how you’d rather be dead than be here, you wish you would have died. That’s - you know how terrifying that is to hear, right?”

He _listened_ to that?

“I didn’t - “

“So I took your guns, okay? I put them… _away_ , somewhere, so you couldn’t hurt yourself.”

He thinks he’s going to - no, no, no. No, Tommy, God -

“Tommy… I’m not going to _hurt_ myself.”

Tommy looks like he could cry, and Gordon feels terrible about it, worse than anything he’s done in this stupid facility. Worse than the killing. “Yeah? And - and how am _I_ supposed to know if that’s true? I would never… I could never forgive myself, if anything happened to you.”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“I don’t - like _hell_ I don’t! Do you have any idea how worried I am, constantly? Always? You make everything so - so _difficult_.”

God. He feels terrible.

Gordon moves his hand now that nothing’s holding it down, but Tommy catches his wrist again. Gordon doesn’t fight him this time.

Tommy’s attention shifts entirely to pulling the HEV glove off, leaning forwards so that he can bring Gordon’s hand to his cheek, and Gordon feels like he’s going to die in a different way. He’s going to die, because Tommy’s still here, still trying to work with him, after his outburst here, and - Christ, every outburst he’s had so far. Tommy is too good to him.

He looks so sad, and Gordon’s so lost as to what to do about it, so he has to settle for running his thumb over Tommy’s cheek, praying that it’s conveying what he wants it to.

“I care about you so much, Gordon, it’s - it hurts. And I don’t know why. I want - I don’t even _know_ what I want.”

“Breakfast.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what… that’s what _I_ want. I don’t know about you, but I could really crush some pancakes right now.”

Tommy laughs, and it pushes most of the sad out of his eyes. Gordon knows Tommy doesn’t understand, but that’s fine.

Gordon wants, more than anything, more than breakfast and pancakes with real maple syrup, more than terrible instant coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar and as much cream as possible, he wants to be able to push himself up and kiss Tommy. Right now, after all this, he’s too tired to be stressed about how it might be the wrong move.

But he’s missing a hand, and he can’t push himself up, can’t close that gap.

He moves his hand, runs it through Tommy’s hair, to the back of his neck, tries to communicate what he wants.

Tommy understands, or Tommy is already planning on doing it.

He leans down fully, presses a quick kiss to Gordon’s lips, and pulls back almost immediately. Giggles like it’s funny to torture Gordon, and - maybe it is? He just rolls his eyes and tries to pull him down again. Tommy complies.

Kisses him real, still soft, still sweet - crepes, strawberries and banana slices, homemade whipped cream. More brunch than breakfast, maybe. He's more awake than he’s ever been, he thinks, at 10:47 AM on a Sunday. That’s the time, now. That's what the HEV suit’s clock is saying. 

Tommy leans back again, all smiles, the whole situation forgotten. Like they were both just annoyed because they were hungry, and now that they’re stopping for food, everything's fine. 

“That wasn’t - that’s not just a ploy to get me to lower my guard, right?”

“I’m not that smart, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. yeah. i know. took a while. ive been havin problems disorder. there might be mistakes considering its 6am as im posting this. bless


	3. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hour twelve.

Gordon’s out like a light, the stress of everything too much for him. Hair tangled again, despite all the effort Tommy went to. That doesn’t matter, he’s got plenty of time, he’ll have plenty of time once they’re out of here. He can brush it for real, run his fingers through his hair for _real_ , in a real bed, in a real house, curled up together. No HEV suit in the way. Feel Gordon do the same to him without risk of getting that stupid glove stuck. Wrap themselves up in sheets, comforters, kiss each other senseless.

Tommy feels like he’s going to laugh, going to cry, going to - he’s going to do _something_. He feels like he has to get up, has to pace the room, wants to run a fucking _marathon_. Because the emotions he’s been having to cope with since they got trapped in here, all the reading too far in, not reading far enough… and then Gordon let him kiss him - Gordon let Tommy _kiss_ him - it’s too fucking much. 

When the door opens and Bubby strides in, flicks the lights on, fully ready to gloat, he’s met with gold eyes staring at him from a pile of blankets. Bubby backs out the door again in an instant, pulling his gun.

Tommy didn’t _mean_ to startle Bubby, but it’s for the best that he didn’t just come in hollering about how great he is at puzzles. Benrey trips over the empty pistol as he follows behind, barely catching himself before he clips straight through the floor, and Coomer follows soon after, able to read the room enough to keep quiet when he says, “Hello, Gordon!”

The team’s back. Great. They didn’t forget them, didn’t leave them behind. Gordon will be happy to hear it, whenever he wakes up. Tommy is going to make sure that he’s not going to be awake for a while, though. He needs rest.

Benrey threatens to kick Gordon’s side before he locks eyes with Tommy. A second that felt like it lasted an hour, a very blatant threat. Benrey keeps himself from acting out, just this once. “Dumbass couldn’t even stay awake the entire time. Fuckin’ - what a baby.”

Tommy doesn’t know how to convey how much he’s not fucking around about Gordon not being in a good place, so he keeps his sentences short. Understandable, able to be remembered. “He’s stressed. Leave him alone.”

“Whatever.”

Benrey backs down, sits down beside them, and Bubby and Coomer follow suit. It’s as good a place as any to sleep, what with all the blankets and the already snoring Gordon.

Tommy takes the first watch, and then he takes every watch after, only slightly distracted thinking about Gordon’s tired rambling, his bizarre focus on breakfast foods. They’ve got plans, now. Gordon promised him too-sweet coffee, fried eggs, whipped cream on French toast. He’s going to hold him to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EUGHTDSKBDFSFSDKFSDNLFDSKDSBFDS i just exist. ok


End file.
